


Moira O'Deorain - The Changeling

by MDidact (SaigonTimeMD)



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Anal Sex, Brainwashing, Dubious Consent, F/M, Fucking Machines, Hypnotism, Oral Sex, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-04
Updated: 2018-05-04
Packaged: 2019-05-02 05:08:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,086
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14537340
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SaigonTimeMD/pseuds/MDidact
Summary: Moira, kinky girl that she is, decides to test her latest invention on herself, but things get complicated when a couple of vindictive Talon grunts wander into the lab!





	Moira O'Deorain - The Changeling

                A shiver ran down Moira O’Deorain’s spine, spiderwebbing along her limbs, and out to her fingers and toes. The tension in her jaw chattered her teeth once, twice, three times, and she struggled to steady her breath as she felt the phantom weight of pressure across her bare chest. Her mouth was dry, and when she swallowed, she heard her tongue and throat contract, lubricating nothing. In spite of the storm of butterflies in her stomach, she couldn’t help but crack a smile; it had been a long time, far too long, since she had dirtied her own hands in the name of science. A private lab, endless funding, and as many expendable interns as she could manage had made her complacent, docile, and detached. Now, strapped into her latest, potentially greatest creation, she felt alive once more – the nerves, the adrenaline, even the fear exhilarated her, even if there was nothing truly to fear at all. Nothing but progress.

                Director Ogundimu had christened her creation ‘The Lotus’ months before she had even started on a physical prototype, a reference to the narcotic-addicts of Greek myth who dined on lotus fruits and spent their lives in a happy, brainwashed haze, perfectly satisfied to stay on their island prison when home was only a day’s voyage away. Moira found the title banal, but hardly surprising given the man’s pride in his ‘worldly knowledge.’ For her own part, she had given her creation another title altogether, a name infinitely more befitting to its purpose: in ancient Ireland, legend spun tales of men, women, and children stolen away in the night only to be replaced by lookalikes of fairy heritage. Identical dopplegangers to even the most practiced eye, they were nonetheless quite different in mind and soul. Sometimes wicked, sometimes benign, always distinct, it was from them that Moira bestowed her creation its true name: the Changeling.

                Moira’s heterochromatic gaze scanned across almost a hundred different readouts displayed on a dozen computer screens before her, searching for what she could not decide – or admit. A glitch? A fault? A reason to halt the experiment? She had been running checks for the last three hours, seeing nothing but green across the board. She had sacrificed months of sleep and brainpower, bent towards the Changeling’s design and construction. The activation phrase rested on the tip of her tongue; she had but to say it, even whisper it, and there would be no more choice to make. The machine was ready, but was she?

                Breathing slowly through her nose and out her mouth in an attempt to steady herself, Moira ignored the pounding in her chest, and instead forced herself to take stock of her situation. She was completely naked, seated in the Changeling’s chair, resting comfortably on a cushion of her marvelous nano-gel that outlined her body, arms, legs, and even head; able to change texture, tensile strength, and translucency, the nano-gel felt in that moment like one luxurious leather cushion, but she knew that would change as soon as the experiment began. She was secured by rings of segmented restraints at her ankles, wrists, knees, elbows, waist, and neck, leaving her almost-completely immobilized from the shoulders down; she had periodically tested the strength of the restraints with everything from subtle wriggling to out-and-out thrashing, but the result had been like trying to escape velvet-covered titanium. Only her tiny waist, smaller than the Changeling’s base parameters, had given the machine any measure of trouble, and the belt-like restraint extended, locked, and constricted only a half-second slower than the rest. She was impressed at how quickly her Changeling had adapted, but also made a note to extend the potential size parameters on all of the restraints once she was finished: in a larger, more physically capable subject than herself, a half-second hesitation could be the difference between a properly restrained subject and an escaped one.

                Directly behind her stood a red, rectangular column, the Changeling’s CPU, and from it jutted two U-shaped extensions: a smaller one encircling the chair on the floor, and a considerably larger one housing the bulk of the Changeling’s hardware, mirroring the same shape above her head. The testing chamber was otherwise bare, and the observation window before her showed an empty lab, darkened save for the faint luminescence of blank computer screens. Moira shuddered with anticipation as she imagined what it would be like to stand on the other side of the glass as an observer and watch the Changeling do its work.

                There was one more step to take before then, and only she could take it. Moira turned to the small red light above the observation window and began to speak.

                “As you – or I, in this case – can see, after frequent escape attempts of various efforts at various intervals, I am still _quite_ secure,” she began, cracking her neck the side. “The alterations to the neck restraint unit’s response programming were successful, and my breathing was, and continues to be, unrestricted during my struggles. I will continue to attempt to escape for as long as I am able, but I do not expect a different result.” She paused and realized her white-knuckled fingers were pressed completely into the nano-gel beneath her hands; she tried to relax her shaking hands, but the nano-gel held firm in spite of how soft it felt against her skin.

 _Curious_ , Moira thought, then turned back to the camera as she felt a trickle of sweat down the back of her neck.

                “A-as I have stated before, the purpose of this experiment is to test the Chang—the Lotus’ effectiveness as a permanent reconditioning tool. To that end, I have chosen myself as a test subject, both because of my utmost commitment to the science of progress, specifically my benefactors’ progress, and…” Moira shook off a shudder, and continued. “…and my curiosity about the malleability of human behavior, specifically my own.” She took another deep breath, and clenched her jaw to stop it from chattering. Speaking about her bedroom history in the safety of her private quarters was one thing, speaking about it while naked and strapped into the most sophisticated brainwashing machine the world had ever seen was another thing entirely.

 _No one but you will see this,_ she reminded herself, _this is for you, and you alone. You wanted this._

                “During my time at university, I made an admittedly brash wager with a colleague about the efficacy of conscious behavioral conditioning; she believed behavioral conditioning to be less effective when the subject was aware of the desired behavior, I believed it to be _more_ effective. While she attempted to change one of our fellow students’ minds about his favorite fizzy drink, I…conditioned myself to achieve orgasm solely through anal stimulation, a concept – I would like to point out – I had not only no interest in up to that point, but a concept I actually found quite repugnant for a variety of reasons which require no explanation.”

                A bead of moisture dripped off of Moira’s chin, and she had to take another long breath. Her eyes wandered down, and she saw that although the lab was a perfectly comfortable 20 °C, her nipples were almost painfully hard.

                “Over approximately two months, we plied our trade; at the end of the allotted time, I had achieved my goal, but she had not. She doubled down on the wager, and in my youthful pride, I agreed to her terms; though she could not teach our fellow student to favor a new drink, she would train him to avoid his current favorite, and I, in turn, would condition myself not only to achieve orgasm through anal stimulation, but to no longer orgasm through vaginal stimulation. An incredibly foolish idea, especially given my gender preference, but pride is the deadliest of sins. Two months later, she had once again failed, and – after a rigorous testing session in which she attempted all manner of methods – I was once again proven victorious. I have no regrets, and in the years since then I have attempted vaginal stimulation only a handful of times: each occasion beginning in curiosity, continuing through dull sensations, and ending in frustration. Even years later, at this very moment, I am _still_ incapable of achieving orgasm through vaginal stimulation, the concept of which has now become as repugnant to me as anal stimulation was all those years ago.”

                “Which brings me _to_ this very moment: utilizing methods far more sophisticated than the rudimentary concept-association, hypnotic inducements, and painful aversion therapy that I unwisely practiced on myself as a university student, I will selectively undo _decades_ of habit in a single four-hour Lotus session: I will, once more, receive pleasure from vaginal stimulation, while still retaining my ability to achieve orgasm through anal stimulation. Should the machine prove successful, and I have every reason to believe it will be, I will feel confident in moving forward on a live testing phase that will span from simple habit reinforcement all the way to the construction, stabilization, and irrevocable replacement of one personality with another; here, of course, I speak of the Widowmaker project, but that is quite far off on the horizon. Biology’s habits are hard to break, but I have broken mine before – now I will remake them.”

                Moira licked her lips and closed her eyes, letting out a shaky breath. The muscles in her abdomen clenched and unclenched, and she furrowed her brow.

 _Am I becoming aroused?_ she wondered. _I suppose that’s the point, isn’t it._

                She opened her eyes and looked directly into the camera.

                “I suppose I’ve stalled enough,” she sighed. “Dr. Moira O’Deorain, authorization 56932-1L0: remove vocal failsafe and begin experiment.”

                “Vocal failsafes removed,” a tinny, synthesized version of her own voice confirmed. “Ádh mór, Dr. O’Deorain.”

                On cue, she sank into the nano-gel as it abruptly changed form, at first cushioning her, then slowly rising around and over her body. The change took Moira by surprise even though she was expecting it.

                “Th-the nano-gel is extremely responsive,” she said, trying to remain professional. “It has transformed from a solid to a viscous liquid almost faster than I can register while still perfectly matching my skin temperature. If not for the slight difference in room temperature, I am not sure I would be able to even tell I was being covered.” She paused and looked down at her body. “Optics not withstanding.” The translucent nano-gel had already encased her thin arms and lithe legs, bunching up around the restraints without covering them, and was creeping across her chest, the last few inches of bare flesh below her neck. The gel rolled over her erect nipples, enclosing her small, A-cup breasts in an almost intangible layer of warmth, and Moira unconsciously sucked on her lower lip. Bright red lights blinked on along each restraint, and the nano-gel began to contract, flattening and tightening along Moira’s skin. The sudden sensation of being totally encased caught her off guard, and she let out a little whine.

                “Stage two of the gel encasement process is complete, and as you can see,” she explained with a slight tremor in her voice, “it has rendered me completely immobile.” To demonstrate, she tried to wriggle and shake in the chair, but she was as still from the neck down as if she had been encased in cement instead of the nano-gel that had become smooth across her body as translucent latex. Another shiver ran up Moira’s spine as heat began to radiate across her body. “On a personal note, I must admit this entire process is quite…arousing, to say the least. Additional testing will be required to determine if this is a result of my own proclivities or not, as well as if my own knowledge of the program I am about to be subjected to versus a subject unaware of the coming—”

                A noise from above caught Moira’s attention, and she looked up to see the Changeling’s head unit descending from the Changeling’s overhanging arch. Her face turning a slight red, Moira’s sentence changed direction.

                “Ah, I see that we’re coming to the end of this conversation.” With her head still facing up, Moira’s eyes darted over to the small red light she had been addressing before. “Because of the nature of the experiment, I will be unable to narrate any further, as I wish to test the Changeling’s adaptational functions when confronted with resistance before the dominance hood is engaged.” Across several of the screens facing her, Moira’s heartbeat readouts began to spike. “From, ah, from this point I’ll have to rely on visual and statistical data to produce an accurate report – and my own experience, ah, of course.”

                The Changeling’s ‘dominance hood’ sank down, low enough to catch the laboratory light. It was a segmented helmet of sorts: two side segments which would seal over her ears and transmit aural stimulation, a rear segment to cradle her head, a front segment which would provide visual, olfactory, and gustatory stimulation as well as prevent her from biting her own tongue, and then the top skull casing, which housed the Changeling’s secret weapon. Each individual piece was actually made up of dozens of tiny panels connected by a versatile nano-mesh that ensured the hood would fight snugly over any head. It was a marvel of design, one Moira had spent many months creating; in the lab and on the prototyping table, she had felt pride at the sight of it, a testament to her scientific supremacy. Now seeing it descend over her own head, Moira felt a potent cocktail of quite _different_ emotions – nervousness, fear, desire – that bubbled out of her as a shaky giggle. She clamped her jaw down at the outburst, and the red in her cheeks darkened by a degree.

                The top of the hood came to rest on Moira’s head, flattening her bright red hair; the hood was light, like wearing a cap, in spite of the fact that Moira knew from firsthand experience that it weighed almost forty pounds. Next, the back of the hood slowly curved down, putting just enough pressure on Moira’s neck to hold her in place. The panels in the back segment clicked and clacked as they adjusted to her headshape, spreading out and supporting her further; Moira made a mental note to further investigate panel technology for usage in pillows.

                The ear sections came down next, and any feeling of relaxation supplied by the soft-but-firm head panel was gone: Moira felt the mesh on the inside of the segments against her jaw and neck, heard a soft sucking sound as the aural units sealed over her ears, and then heard nothing at all save the distant, rising beat of her heart which, after a few seconds, faded too, leaving her in silence. On a conscious level, Moira knew she wasn’t hearing true silence: in addition to being proofed against outside noise, the headphone units produced a low-level hum, inaudible to the human ear, which cancelled out ‘interior’ noise as well like breathing or a heartbeat. However, Moira could also hear absolutely _nothing_ , not the clicking of her teeth, not a hum in her throat, not even her own breath. Functionally, it was complete and utter silence, and the need to hear something, _anything_ as soon as possible became almost overwhelming.

                When the front of the hood closed and locked over Moira’s face, the panic truly set in. Trapped in silent darkness, unable to move a single muscle, genetic animal instincts of fight-or-flight rushed up within her against years of self-discipline; her breath came rapidly, her eyes searched for the tiniest ray of light, and every fiber of her body surged forward in a desperate attempt to escape.

                She didn’t move a yoctometre.

                A new pressure against her lips made her jump – or would have, had she been capable of moving at all – and Moira pursed her mouth closed, clenching her teeth against the gag’s intrusion.

                “Please, Dr. O’Deorain, open your mouth.”

                Hearing a synthetic version of her own voice deliver a command was so absurd to Moira in that moment that she almost burst out laughing. Almost. Hearing a sound, any sound, immediately relaxed her, and the animal was gone again. She was Dr. Moira O’Deorain, the greatest scientific mind the world had ever seen, and she was master of herself if nothing else.

                “Please, Dr. O’Deorain, open your mouth.”

                Moira rolled her eyes. The gag was the first stage of the hood’s process, a safety precaution against self-harm as much as a stage in the Changeling’s function; if she could keep it out of her mouth, protocols would prevent the rest of the process. It occurred to Moira that the gag should probably be inserted separately, before the subject was even put into the Changeling, and _then_ attached to the dominance hood. She wished she had a pencil.

                “Dr. O’Deorain, I will not ask a third time,” the synthesized voice warned. “Open your mouth.”

                Moira resisted the urge to taunt the machine on its ‘manners;’ such gloating would be tactless, not to mention it would involve her giving it exactly what it wanted. She gave a defiant “Hmph” instead, although she couldn’t hear it. The Changeling would have to do more than ask like a stern parent if it wanted her compliance, but was it smart enough to read her on its own? She was about to find out.

                A quick but insistent protrusion of nano-gel pressed against Moira’s anus, and the sudden pressure was so surprising that she almost gasped in shock. She tried to clench up, but the machine was faster: the tiniest sliver pushed inside, then expanded to a proper dildo size in a matter of seconds. Although unlubricated, the nano-gel was smooth in texture almost beyond her comprehension, and Moira growled in frustration as the asshole she had spent a lifetime training did exactly what she had trained it to do: it relaxed, letting the nano-dildo invade her and stretch her out, lighting up the nerve endings until she began to see stars in the darkness. The nano-dildo hardened, then changed shape as dozens of small, smooth bumps cropped up along its length. Moira barely had time to register the change before it began to rotate and thrust inside of her at the same time, the bumps popping in and out past her sphincter in a delightful way she had never experienced.

                Exactly _how_ the Changeling had known to go straight for her ass, Moira didn’t know – she’d programmed nothing about herself into the machine beforehand – but at the moment she didn’t care either. Her legs started to shake, toes and fingers curling futilely in their nano-gel prisons as the fastest orgasm of Moira’s life overtook her; she cried out, unable to stop herself, and in a split-second the gag was in her mouth, muffling her moan. The nano-dildo retreated the instant the gag was inserted, leaving Moira quivering with aftershock waves through her body, feeling empty and wanting more.

                “Thank you, Dr. O’Deorain.”

                She cursed as best she could with something between her lips, half out of frustration at herself, half out of still being horny. The gag, made of a smooth, black material dotted with tiny holes, vibrated once as it activated, and additional nano-gel was dispensed out, filling and immobilizing Moira’s mouth. It was warm, but had neither taste nor texture, and soon she could barely feel anything from her mouth at all, as if it had been injected with novocaine.

                Next came the olfactory plugs, which she could do absolutely nothing to stop: inserted into her nose, sneezing became impossible as gel-slick tubes extended through her nasal cavities and down into her throat. There was another brief moment of panic as her air started to run out, but the tubes opened, allowing fresh oxygen. At first feeling stopped up with a cold, the gel’s numbing effect took hold, and soon she felt nothing from her nose as well.

                Lastly came the eye units, which Moira had been particularly proud of when designing the hood. The problem with ocular hypnosis aids was that the subject could always close their eyes from it; if the eyelids were pried open, things became even more complicated. The eyes would require constant moisture from droppers since blinking was no longer an option, the eyelid clamps would eventually began to hurt – as would the eyes themselves (humans really aren’t programmed to not blink) – and the subject would have to be faced with a screen large enough to fill their entire field of vision. Even _if_ the field of vision was filled, the subject could always look in a corner or somewhere else, largely ignoring the ‘bigger picture’ as it were. There was no way to truly control what the subject was seeing…until the Changeling.

                Moira did not resist – there was no resistance left – but the eye clamps extended from the inside of the mask anyway, gently holding her eyelids open. When the gel-coated lenses made contact with her eyes, Moira tried to jerk away, tried to blink, but there was nowhere to go, nowhere to move. The cool sensation across her eyes warmed to undetectable nothingness, and the nano-gel went to complex work: it hardened around the edges of her eyes, preventing her eyelids from closing as the clamps let go and receded, but stayed in viscous form across her sclera, providing moisture that removed the need to blink altogether. Over her cornea, it locked on and semi-hardened to a lens, like a contact. Moira knew all of this was happening, but she didn’t feel it, only comforting warmth against her eyes that almost felt as if they were closed.

 _Incredible_ , she thought, forgetting for one glorious moment what was coming next.

                The pain of sixty mon-molecular needles penetrating her skull at once was exquisite, immediate, as if someone had cut the top of her head off and she could somehow still feel it. Every muscle in her body tensed, and all for nothing. Her jaw did not move. Her eyes did not widen. A scream of pure agony rocketed up through her throat and found neither exit nor registration that it had even happened. All she could do was sit there and take it, drowning in a monstrous cascade of pain that left behind an immobile numbness that swallowed Moira’s reeling mind whole.

                Moira didn’t know if she lost consciousness or not, but the pain was gone and she was staring into a black abyss, feeling nothing but a slight chill around the crown of her head. The muscles in her arms and legs felt strange, like going to sleep in one position and waking in another, but she was so numb she couldn’t be sure.

                A bright Talon logo appeared before her, and she tried to look away, but it remained fixed at the same point in her vision no matter where her eyes went to. She wasn’t sure if she was moving her eyes at all. It was just there, always ahead.

_The lenses are working as intended. That’s g-_

                Silent images flashed before her, dozens every second, so fast that at first she couldn’t make out what they were. She wasn’t sure if the images slowed or her eyes adjusted, but in a moment, they became clear.

                Cunts. Pussies. Vaginas. Some shaven. Some unshaven. Some trimmed. Dry. Wet. Quivering. Gaping. Fucked. Licked. Fingered. All of them.

                It was like something out of a two-bit internet porn story, Moira acknowledged, but it was something to focus on, the reason she was there after all. No, the reason she was there was to test the machine, this was just the method. The method to put her in the mindset. Mindset was important. Mindset was everything. This was just necessary until she lost consciousness. Then the real work would begin.

                There were some nice ones that passed her by, ones she wished she could go back and take another look at, ones she’d like to taste, to _fuck_. All someone else’s, never her own. She felt nothing.

                “Because you wanted to feel nothing.”

                The images shifted in speed and frequency and type. Red hair now. All with red hair.

_Clever. Self-visualization._

                “But you do want to feel something, don’t you.”

                The nano-gel surrounding Moira’s exposed clit began to vibrate, and she noted the sensation with the same reaction as someone getting their shoulder shaken might have. There was friction, there was movement, but no pleasure. Moira had stopped wondering long ago if the painful electroshock aversion therapy she had put herself through had been a mistake; clearly it was, and now a part of her was broken as a result. This entire thing was a waste of time.

                “No, it isn’t.”

                The vibration stopped for a good ten seconds, then started again. At the same time, several of the mono-mollecular needles, suspended a zeptometre above her actual brain, sent rapid electric signals directly into her grey matter, reforming and repairing old connections.

                A small wave of pleasure, the gust of a breeze on a summer beach, stirred in Moira’s neglected clitoris, and she felt something she had not felt in decades. Even with just the tiniest of micro-stimulations sent her heart leaping and made her mouth water.

_Impossible. How could this happen so fast?_

                “Because you want to orgasm from your cunt. You _need_ to orgasm from your cunt, don’t you.”

_Yes._

                Another tremor. Moira moaned.

                The images before her sped up, staying on the redheads. It was her, now. They were all her. Filled. Fucked. Fingered. Teased. Licked. Kissed. One image of a blonde with blue eyes tongue deep in Moira’s snatch seemed to freeze a nanosecond longer than the others, and an extraneous thought flew across Moira’s mind so fast she couldn’t put a name to it.

                Did she really want this so badly? It had never been an issue before, really, but now she was desperate.

                Above her head, all sixty needles were glowing white, lighting Moira’s brain up, reassignment old impulses and creating new ones, ratcheting up her adrenaline, pushing her towards a single goal.

                Moira’s eyes began to roll upward, she _felt_ them roll upward even though the images in front of her stayed the same. There was a throbbing sound in her ears, a sound that seemed to pull her down into a white sea where everything was numb except her wonderful, dripping pussy.

_Is this what it’s like going under?_

                “Yes. Goodbye.”

+++

                “You coming or not?”

                “We’re gonna get fired for this, Strat! Or worse!”

                Private Jessica Stratford walked into the darkened science lab and raised her hands out, as if inviting divine judgment. Nothing happened. She turned back to the door and cocked her head. Private Geoff Metzen didn’t need to see her face through the red-eyed helmet to know what her expression was.

                “You really afraid of Dr. O’Skeletor, Metz?”

                “No, but we shouldn’t be here!” he protested, unwilling to step through the doorway. Geoff was almost a foot taller, 100 pounds heavier than Jessica, and was in full ballistic armor, but he somehow looked smaller then and there. Jessica shook her head.

                “Well, I didn’t get chased out of here by that harpy for nothing. _You_ can stay there, _I’m_ going to get some payback.”

                “What are you doing?” Geoff protested, putting his hands over his helmet. “She’s like the highest ranking scientist here! She’s gonna put us on latrine duty in the fucking arctic!”

                Jessica shook her head.

                “No, she won’t. She won’t even know it’s us; what, you think I’m gonna leave a signed note or something?”

                “No, but—”

                “Right! Now help me find the most important looking notes in here.”

                Jessica began to rummage through the numerous files splayed out haphazardly across the desks and examination tables. The going was difficult with her thick guard gloves, but she wasn’t about to leave fingerprints.

                “You know,” she started, “for an uptight OCD bitch she’s pretty mess—holy shit.”

                “What?” Metzen asked, arms crossed at the doorway, looking up and down the hallway outside to make sure they weren’t seen.

                “Get over here,” Jessica hissed, walking towards the lab’s observation window.

                “What? No. Absolutely, no.”

                “Fucking get over here, you pussy!”

                “Fine!” Metzen growled, and he stomped into the lab to see what had Jessica so transfixed. “Holy shit.”

                Inside the experiment room was a large machine, its front column filled with clear liquid. Within the column floated a thin figure dressed in some sort of latex getup with their arms and legs bent and bound behind their back, and wearing some sort of elaborate helmet that covered their head completely. The figure jerked and twitched every few seconds as if being shocked.

                “What in the actual fuck kind of an experiment…” Metzen started to wonder aloud before trailing off into open disbelief. “I’d hate to be that poor bastard.”

                “Sounds like it’s not all that bad,” Stratford said, pointing to one of the computer screens still facing in. Although the volume was down, the sound was unmistakable: a woman moaning like a whore, groaning in perpetual ecstasy as orgasm after orgasm rippled through her.

                “Holy shit. What the hell is going on?” Metzen asked.

                Jessica leaned closer to the observation window, and behind the red lenses of her tactical helmet, her eyes widened.

                “That’s fuckin’ Dr. O’Skeletor herself in there, Metz,” she said with an audible grin.

                “What?!”

                Jessica grabbed Geoff’s shoulder and pointed.

                “Look! Itty bitty titties, big hips, looks like she weighs about ten pounds soaking wet?”

                “Holy _shit_. We have to get out of here!”

                “Not a fucking chance,” Jessica crowed, turning back to the computer screen. “I don’t know what this thing is or what it does, but I’m fucking with it. This is just too good.”

                “Jessica, let’s go!”

                Jessica ignored him, focusing on the interface running on the screen. She didn’t know much about computers in general, but the design seemed intuitive enough.

                “Let’s see…running program…’Vaginal Rehabilitation?’ What kind of nerd shit? No, that won’t do at all. What else did Dr. O’Pervert load on here? ‘Assassin Prototype?’ Nah. ‘Hacker That Talks Less?’ Don’t know what that one’s about. OH, here we go! ‘Company Cocksucker.’ That sounds fun. What do you think?”

                “I think if we stay here any longer, we are going to literally be killed.”

                “Killjoy. Alright, ‘Company Cocksucker’ it is. Better check the ‘free will’ box, though. I guess the boss would be pissed if his head scientist _only_ wanted to suck dicks.”

+++

                Moira was floating in nothingness again, barely aware of her own body. The pleasure was gone. Why was the pleasure gone? She had never felt to so wet in all her life, and she knew exactly which dildo she was going to hop on as soon as—

                Images flashed in front of her eyes again, but they were the wrong images, no, not the wrong images, just different than before.

                Cocks. Dicks. Penises. Some shaven. Some unshaven. Some trimmed. Cut. Uncut. Erect. Limp. Thick. Long. Dry. Glistening. Dripping with cum. All of them.

_This is different. This isn’t what I programmed._

                “Yes, it is.”

_No, it isn’t! Penises are…penises are fine. They’re not usually to my liking, but I’ve had a few nice ones. I can appreciate the aesthetics, at least. The veins. Throbbing muscle, hard throbbing muscles. Round heads, I can barely get my lips around. Wait, what was I talking about?_

                “Because you want cock. You _need_ cock, don’t you. Filling your mouth, shooting down your throat, sack against your chin, salty spunky cum across your tongue until you gulp it all down just like you know you should.”

_No! No, I don’t…_

                Her nose filled with stench of musk, freshly washed or covered in tangy sweat, pressed up against her face like it should be. Her mouth filled with the taste of it, of veiny muscle pushing down against her tongue, now of salty, creamy, a reward, her reward like it should be.

_This…this isn’t…is what I wanted, isn’t it? More than my tight little snatch or that well-trained ass, this is what I want. This is what I need._

                Her eyes began to roll back up, staring sightless as a cavalcade of cocks blinked in front of her.

                “You are going under again.”

_Good._

+++

                “So…you’re entirely sure this Lotus unit is effective?” Akande Ogundimu asked, reading over Moira’s post-mortem reports.

                “Is this proof enough, or do you require more?” she answered, sliding her tongue up the length of his cock before planting a kiss directly on the spit-covered head. Even on her knees, beneath his desk, drooling like an animal, Moira’s eyes flickered with wicked cunning. Without waiting for an answer, she pressed her mouth against his glans, letting his thick, nine-inch meat slide into her eager mouth and down her tight throat in a single smooth motion. Spit dripped from her lips at the base of his ballsack, leaving a puddle on the white tile floor, but Akande, who was normally the only person to care more about appearances than Moira, couldn’t find it in himself to care at that moment. This was the sloppiest blowjob of his life – and also the best.

                “I suppose your findings are…quite conclusive.” His breath caught as Moira bobbed her head up and down, humming lightly as her tongue pressed up against his cock. “I…ngh…see no reason to…hunh…delay production further.”

                Moira pulled back and released his head with a wet pop, and grinned like a cat that has just caught a canary.

                “I thought so,” she said, continuing to jack him with one hand in slow, luscious movements. “I had a second one made last night.”

                “That explains where Privates Stratford and Metzen are.” Akande let out a hiss as Moira thumbed the underside of his cockhead in a slow circle. “You know I could have them killed, right?”

                “Your protectiveness of your head science officer is appreciated, but unnecessary,” she said, giving his balls a quick slurp. “I’ve thought of something much better for those two, although if you could transfer them directly to my supervision, that would speed things along.”

                “I’ll…I’ll start the paperwork as soon as we’re finished,” he winced.

                Moira purred as she watched a few pale drops squeeze out of her boss’s cock.

                “Mmm…we _are_ almost finished, aren’t we?”

                Akande could only nod.

                Keeping her mouth around his cockhead, Moira placed both hands around the rest of his slick length and jack him rapidly. She lavished his glans with her tongue, lapping up every drop of precum, curving around every inch, and squeezed with her hands until her elbows hurt. His cock started to twitch in her grip, but it only spurred her on, horny, even desperate to make him cum. She looked up at him, and gave him a wink with her blue eye. Akande leaned forward on the desk, grabbing it with both hands.

                “Dr. O’Deorain!”

                She dropped her tongue and flicked it along the underside, coaxing his cum directly into her mouth as he orgasmed. The first shots went down her throat and she gulped on instinct, barely tasting them; the rest splattered out onto her tongue and pooled in her mouth, and she savored every second of the spunky salt flavor. She ran her thumbs up the bottom of his shaft, squeezing every drop of cum she could, and when he went empty, she took his entire length down his throat and sucked as hard as he could, taking her spit back with her until his cock flopped free in the office air, almost dry.

                “Please, Director,” she began as she stood to her feet, wiping a few errant drops of cum from her lips and sucking them off her fingers, “Call me Moira.” She sauntered to the office door and turned around, still grinning. “But only if you want me on my knees,” she added, and then she was gone, high heels clicking down the hallway.

                Akande wiped the sweat from his brow, and buzzed his secretary.

                “Yes sir?”

                “Notify Sombra,” he began, trying hide how out of breath he still was, “it’s time to bring Widowmaker back in.”

                “Yes sir. Anything else?”

                “Yes. Notify the old Lacroix team. Tell them they’re all fired.”

                “Of course, sir. What’s their severance package?”

                “Keep the research, dump the bodies. That’ll be all.”


End file.
